Three days. That's how long the little Swan girl had been missing. Three days of searching, of calling her name into the damp, dripping dark.

Charlie Swan stood at the treeline, his flashlight dead in his hand. He hadn't eaten, hadn't slept, hadn't done anything but stare at the place where his daughter had vanished.

Somewhere deep in those woods, a small fire crackled. And Y/n Swan, lost and shivering and too stubborn to cry, sat with her knees tucked to her chest, staring into the flames.

She didn't know that the whole town was looking for her. She didn't know her father was falling apart. She didn't know that something ancient and golden-eyed had been watching her since the second night, waiting.